


burning up like a fever

by Weaseltotheface



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, POV Second Person, post cage match, started after episode 89 and only finished now lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:21:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26434096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weaseltotheface/pseuds/Weaseltotheface
Summary: Post episode 89: Lingering WoundsAfter Yasha's match against the champion at the King's Cut. Beau finds her to have a talk.
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha
Comments: 6
Kudos: 129





	burning up like a fever

**Author's Note:**

> hellooooo I started writing this after episode 89 and i only finished it just now out of procrastination for another fic i'm writing lmao

“You know, if you just wanted to get the shit kicked out of you, I would have been happy to help”

The sound of Beau’s voice, slightly raspy and barely hesitant, startles you out of your reading. You had gotten pretty far into the book, desperate to finish as soon as possible, but now your place is lost.

You look up and can’t quite meet her gaze, eyes landing on her hairline, her cheekbone, the new brutal scar on her brow, across her eye. The thought that you might have given it to her flits into consciousness and you can’t stand to even look at her anymore.

You drop your eyes back to the book in your hands, hoping for nonchalance but knowing you don’t succeed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Beau. I gave it my all in there, she was really quite good, she was champion for a reason. It was a toughie.” You’re a bad liar. You know this but you try anyway.

Beau snorts and you look up from the weathered yellow paper, fingers still absentmindedly caressing the page. The texture is soothing and your anxiety is high. 

She drops to the ground in front of you, folding effortlessly into a cross legged position. You’re caught between the awe you feel at her grace and the jealousy you feel at the easy way she commands herself. 

“You’re a bad liar, Yash. You didn’t even try. If you wanted to get beat up so bad I still say you should have just let me do it for you. Easier that way.” 

You meet her eyes.

The blue is striking. It’s always striking. The concern there tugs your heart and another pang of guilt hits you in the gut. Pain. It’s always pain. How do you stop hurting people?

A hum leaves your throat and you look away.

“No. No, you wouldn’t have done it.”

You hear her sputter. Probably offended that you would question her about a fight. 

“Um, yeah I would have?”

You close the book with a sigh and lay back in the grass, hands tucked under the back of your head. The clouds roll by, white and wispy, no sign of rain on the horizon.

You wish for a storm.

“No, Beau, you wouldn’t have been able to give me that.”

The grass crunches and you look and see her lay down beside you. Gaze calculatedly not looking at anything but the sky. A smile tugs lightly at the edge of your mouth, fond as always of her unwavering kindness.

“You are too kind to have given me what I was looking for. You all are.”

“That’s the problem then, huh. What were you looking for? We’re all worried about you. Hell, I’m probably not the best person to be out here talking to you. I know I'm not the best at like, comfort or whatever. But I want to help.” 

She pauses, “I mean...I guess I kind of know what you were after. But I want to hear it from you, you know? It’s not fair of me to just assume, right?”

A small laugh fights it’s way from your throat, a choked off sound, unused in months. It’s startling, unexpected but not unwelcome to either of you. You catch a small smile on Beau’s face before you turn your head to the clouds again.

“No, I suppose I owe an explanation.”

You hear rather than see Beau sit up next to you. Curious, you turn to her and see her brows drawn, serious and concerned.

She’s beautiful in the sunlight.

Now is not the time.

You quirk an eyebrow at her in question.

“You don’t owe us anything, Yasha. We’re all just worried. We want you to be ok. And I want you to tell me what’s up because you want to, not because you feel like you have to. That fight was fucked up, Yash. Like it was cool like cuz you’re cool and you do cool shit. But it was fucked up.” 

It’s all you can do to just nod along. The concern is...surprisingly forthright. You ache to your core over the time you’ve missed. They’ve all grown so much and you missed it. You missed the moments that have made them who they are now and you’re still just you. 

You but worse.

“I just wanted...to hurt, I guess. And I know you all care about me too much to hurt me the way I needed. Even after...everything.”

Beau sighs next to you, and you can hear the defeat in it.

“Maybe you’re right.” 

She flops back down into the grass, heavy and uncaring, scattering pollen and dandelion seeds into the air. You watch them float in the breeze, twirling around each other like a dance. 

Envy pools deep in your chest, squeezing around your heart like a vice. 

It’s foolish, you think, to be envious of a seed.

And yet here you are. 

You wonder if you will ever feel that freedom again.

You turn to look at Beau and can’t help the twitch in your muscles when you realize she had already been looking at you. Your eyes lock and she looks…

Sad. 

You don’t realize why until you feel it, tracking a cold trail down the plane of your cheek. 

“Yash…” 

Wiping the tear away quickly, you huff a laugh, small and pitiful but there nonetheless. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t know...I don’t know why I’m crying. It’s stupid.” 

Embarrassed, you start to turn, intent on hiding your face and your shame in cloud gazing but Beau doesn’t let you. 

Her hand is warm on the skin of your cheek and you can’t suppress the shiver that runs down your spine. The swipe of her thumb under your eye fizzles sensation across your nerves, not unlike the crackling of lightning that signals you to walk into the storm.

You’ve never wished for a storm less. 

“It’s not stupid, Yasha.” Beau murmurs, swiping more silent tears from your face. “I can’t even imagine what you’re going through right now. But I do understand using pain to distract yourself.”  
Her eyes are intent on yours, your tears have dried, and you ache for her, for the pain she’s endured. For the pain you’ve caused her and the pain others have inflicted. For the pain she’s caused herself.

“Did it help you, Beau?” 

The heavy warmth of her hand has yet to move, her thumb still stroking lightly, unconsciously, sending that same crackling shiver through your soul. 

The air is quiet in the space between your faces. 

“No. No it didn’t.” 

Your eyes close against your will when Beau lets her hand slip away from you. 

“Did it help you?”

Opening your eyes again, you see that Beau has tucked her arms beneath her head like a pillow. She is still looking at you, eyes bright and serious under the harsh light of the sun. 

You reach out with your thumb and smooth out the worried crease of her brow and let the back of your fingers brush along her cheek.

“No...I don’t think it did.”

Her eyelids flutter close as you watch, your gaze flits between every detail you can scour. A freckle, a scar, the crooked bend of her nose. She is everything in this moment and you can hardly remember that she’s only here out of concern for you. 

“So…” her eyes are still closed, her voice the softest you’ve ever heard from her, “No more of this ok? I-we, don’t like seeing you hurt. Especially when it was preventable.” 

The breath you release shakes like autumn leaves, a fragile broken thing clinging to your bones. 

You agree. 

“I...I have hurt you all...very badly. Especially you, Beau. I...do not know how to...atone for that.” 

“I know you feel guilty about it, Yasha. But it wasn’t you, and I don’t blame you. You wanna atone?”

You startle when Beau reaches for you again. She cups your cheek and forces your eyes to meet hers, blue and serious and kind. 

Beautiful. 

“You want to atone? Then stay with us. Stay and-and we can do some good here. Together.”

A tear slips down your face, just one, cold as ice until it meets the heat of Beau’s palm.

“I can do that.” Your voice is choked but firm. Grounding. And Beau lights up. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”


End file.
